


sunday sacraments

by rattlechoke



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Come Eating, Edging, I apologize in advance!, Large Cock, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, POV Second Person, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Stomach Bulge, Urethral Play, You've been warned, again i would really like to emphasize this is noncon, and kabu is his poor victim, i don't know if i missed anything so read at ur own risk, if that's not your thing, in which raihan is a demon-dragon-succubus mix rolled into one, is raihan still a gym leader? is kabu? who knows all i wrote was the sex, it just came to me that edging is basically denial of service attack. haha. DoS attack, long prehensile monster tongues, lots of references to eating but mostly in the sexy way, main raihan pov, oh shit i forgot the most important tag, old man fucker committee, slick? is that a thing? i just put as many of the tropes i found hot into this, stupid magical powers that we handwave away for sexy purposes, unconventional blindfolds, well not actually the metaphor doesn't translate well but. the name works! denial of service, you can tell i am having issues tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattlechoke/pseuds/rattlechoke
Summary: Your man of fire is delectable. You hardly know where to start, given the whole prize of him.
Relationships: Kabu/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	sunday sacraments

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the fucked up smut, where the rules are made up and the points don't matter!  
the rundown: raihan is a demon-dragon-succubus hybrid of sorts. kabu is dinner. enjoy. this work was solely written because i was horny and has no other intent behind it.

When the week’s fire sputters low to ashes, you beat a dark wing and take flight to the temple for worship.

It’s good to feel the cool night air on your skin as you cut through the sky silently. But as soothing as the wind is, the low-burning embers in your core drive you onwards, faster. Letting them flicker out would be a slow and excruciating death, and the need for warmth pushes you like a second hunger. You curl around it carefully, coaxing it to burn brighter.

To your cooling heart, the flight is long, but thankfully the night is longer yet and you alight on a neatly shingled roof with nary a sound. You’re careful not to disturb a single tile as you maneuver to the nearest window, routine now long-practiced. The window is locked, but it takes but the twist of a claw to work it open, and you slip inside, buoyed in the miasma of dream-mist. You’re in, and so close. The familiar smell of this house calms you, makes light dance in your eyes. This is a treasure-box, a precious place. And in the room at the end of the hall… you go through the closed door like stepping sideways through worlds. It’s been a long time since the entrance was barred in any attempt to stop you, not that any of them worked.

At the same time you throw a leg over to straddle the man slumbering in the bed, you pull the tangled weave of his sleep-dreams together into a neatly braided thing. It comes together in a wrap which you pull around his head and over his closed eyes to anchor yourself. The material tastes faintly like old spice and has the texture of cotton fluff when unspun; when you spin threads of it, the flavors are like fireworks, with all the gunpowder and burning tang packed in. It’s wonderful. When his eyes open, awakened by your weight on his body, they are unseeing, blinded by the neat stitches of your craft. Your treasure has such wonderful eyes - it would be a shame to hide them, even if you can’t let him know your face. Your tail bats back and forth in measured delight as he struggles to find the right direction to point his face, given the sightlessness you’ve imposed upon him. Even after all this time, he’s still so pleasant to watch. Your hand is human, now, and you cup it to the side of his face, directing him. You lean down to meet him, to taste him, your blazing man of fire.

He runs hot, of course he does, and it’s a welcome contrast from the chill outside. You pretend you can push the ice in your bones out through your mouth and into his, delving deep with your long, long tongue - he chokes around it, naturally, but you like the stutter of his throat around you and it’s much warmer the deeper you go. By now your dreamweave has ensnared him firmly; his body will position itself in whatever contortion you wish, bound and puppeted by surreal strings of the realm in-between. When you have the presence of mind to retrieve yourself from his mouth, he will be pale-faced and gagging, your slip of the mind; he is a man of fire, but both men and flame require breath to burn. You give him a bit of time to recollect his breath, in lieu of an apology, and greet him:

“Mr. Kabu.”

The “Mr.” is, if anything, a mock title, an appellation that you use not out of any real respect for his boundaries, social or not, but you have fun dragging out the syllables of it, _Missterr_, letting it roll deep and husky from your throat. He’s not the one with the power here, even if you refer to him with faux respect. You do like him, love him, even, but it’s not in any way that treats him as an equal or more, and he knows it. Using Mister isn’t pretending as much as a reminder. You’re not kind, no, but you don’t want him to forget what it is you’re doing to him. You don’t want to forget your own cruelties.

Eventually he catches his breath somewhat and the color creeps back into his face. You tap your nails on his bare chest in time (two-three-four-five), waiting for a response. The silence stretches on, and absently you note your hand has claws again. Wicked-looking things, black and shining and curved to a sharp point. They tap against his skin with the same light pressure as the human nails, regardless.

After some silence he rasps out in return, already sounding wretched:

“Sir.”

That’s all you gave him to address you by, after all, and all other attempts at alternative nom-de-plumes had been met with extended negative stimulus. Usually unpleasant for him, always entertaining for you. It’s been a long journey for the two of you to arrive here: Mr. Kabu. Sir. An accord reached in late Saturday nights, plenty of muffled screaming, and semen. Some blood. You are capable of feeding in many ways, not solely limited to pleasure. You have worked very hard to get here, him Mr. Kabu and you Sir. The satisfaction is the warm, slow gush of someone bleeding out in your mouth. It warms you.

Your man of fire is delectable. You hardly know where to start, given the whole prize of him. Perhaps the neck, which you have bitten and sucked and lavished a hundred times over in a hundred different places, learning exactly where you could push your teeth in to make him hard and make him bleed at the same time. Perhaps the firmness of his arms, the solidity of his chest, the delightful responses you get when you suckle on his nipples or tweak them just so. You could work your way down his abdomen, tracing careful fingers or claws; you know every way he’ll shiver at your cold touch, and a few more when you shake him apart without any more contact than the pads of your fingers. His cock and balls are, of course, a favored plaything, only an inch of a step under his hole, already twitching and dripping at your presence. Your venom coaxes that out of him, slowly, just shaping him ever so slightly on these nights to be able to take you however you desire to have him. So many enjoyable ways to have him, and it never once gets old.

It may not get old, but you grow far too cold, and quickly, so perhaps you have wasted too much time flying tricks in the clouds over the moors on the way to his house. You stop mooning over what bit to eat exactly and start preparing your meal instead, efficiently shucking Kabu’s boxers down & off over his legs, taking his length into your mouth in one sinuous movement.

He hisses at the suddenness of your movements, makes an aborted thrust of the hips before you get the dreamweave more tightly wound around him to hold him still, but you can handle his half-thrust, sucking him down with vigor. Kabu tastes indescribable, something you find hard-pressed to put into words, but it’s the best flavor you’ve ever had, and is why you’ve stayed with him for so long, taken the time to work him over. Your perfect flame. You know all the ways he likes it, how to curl your prehensile tongue just so around his shaft, the timing of your mouth. When you slip the tip of your tongue into his slit, his moan is stuttered and shaking. He likes it when you fuck his cock, although you suppose you don’t really know if that’s true. You do know he can do an interesting full-body flail of sorts - like a particularly violent Splash, honestly, with an equivalent chance of success, helplessly bound in your net of dreamweave - when you push past the root of his urethra with your tongue. You do it now, slowly, carefully, every movement measured, just to repeat the experiment: and as if on command, his mouth opens near-soundlessly, and he writhes helplessly in your web. You do enjoy watching him squirm so. You begin to flick your tongue in and out, eyes fixed on the way it makes him flex against the restraining force of his bonds. When you finally deign to pull off in a wet pop, dripping long trails of drool, he’s hard as a rock, eyes watering from the strain.

“Itadakimasu, Mr. Kabu,” you purr out, rougher than before, and toy with his straining member, watching it bounce as you slap it. His answering grunt just spurs you to pinch the underside of it, right under the head, eliciting a choked-off moan. He would have came if you hadn’t stopped him right then, you’re pretty sure.

“Now, now,” you say lightly, “you know I like my meals well done. Don’t be impatient. Let’s prepare it properly. This is better for both you and me, don’t you agree?” This way you can draw it out longer, you mean, and he can orgasm fewer times rather than you just coming in heavy from the start and forcing him through consecutive orgasms until he passes out. He’d prefer the easier way, right? It still involves plenty of orgasms, but he’s in less danger of losing consciousness. You’ve demonstrated the second method to him before, and he’s been noticeably more pliant in sessions immediately following those.

Most of the time you don’t expect much, if any, of a verbal response from him, so you’re pleasantly surprised when he takes the time to croak out in between tight breaths: 

“Sir.”

You’re so delighted you grip a little too hard around his balls and he flinches, arches up immediately, an involuntary pained whine escaping the taut grip of his throat. You’re quick to loosen your fingers, rubbing softly in apology, and you lean in closer to his face.

“Mm? Is something the matter, Mr. Kabu? Lemme know and I’ll see if I can get that fixed for you right away, hm?”

His eyes, although unseeing for now, still show his emotions, and you specifically use dreamweave to blind him because you like the unvarnished look you get into his mind by looking into them without obscuring them behind a normal blindfold. Now, although they have no focus due to the dreamweave, he seems… determined. Trying to focus, certainly, as you rub your rough fingers up and down his length contemplatively.

“I’ll… I’ll trade you.”

You don’t quite understand. You tell him so, leering with a firm hand pumping around his cock, another massaging his balls. 

“Gonna hafta ‘laborate more than that, Mr. Kabu. As talented as I am, I can’t  _ quite  _ read your mind.”

He breathes slowly, shallowly, quivering like a butterfly pinned to the dissection board. 

“I… don’t really… know much about you… but I’d like to.”

He pants slightly when you pick up the pace of your hand, pauses, continues.

“...I’ll trade you an act… for -  _ ah  _ \- honest answers to… my questions.”

An  _ act.  _ You let that sink in, mulling, as you bring him to near-completion with long, practiced strokes. His eyes are still blinded, but they have an unnerving clarity to them, despite the debauchery of your actions right now. He means what he says. Hm. It’s certainly a change of pace from the antagonism and struggle and battle-readiness he put up when you first started feeding on him. Is he changing tactics, to better deal with his situation? Brute force has failed him, clearly, and it’s been months of you coming to his bed once a week to feed whether he likes it or not. You can’t help but feel a sick rush of fondness for him, unasked for, definitely unwise, at just how resilient he’s been. Okay. You’ll play. You always play, when it comes to him.

“...Mm. I think we can do that.” It comes out surprisingly contemplative. Too much for your taste, so you pivot away immediately by sitting back on your haunches and batting Kabu’s stiff cock around like you’re a Pokemon and his cock is a jingly feather dangler. Haha, it’s even got the bells (balls) and the musical jingle can be substituted with Kabu’s muffled yelp at each playful pass of your hand.

“I want you to suck me off, Mr. Kabu. I want you to take it like a champ, act like my dick is the best thing you’ve ever fucking put in your mouth. I know we ain’t really done this before… So I’m willing to excuse skill for enthusiasm, you get me?” You stop playing, lean in to get a better angle. When you rasp into the flushed shell of his ear, letting your hunger rumble through your words, he better know you mean it.

“Unless that’s too much of a request for you, Mr. Kabu…” Your tongue trails the curve of his ear down to the tensed muscles in his neck. 

“In which case we can forget all about it and carry on as usual.” Here is a gentle nibble at the junction where his neck slopes to meet his chest, to hurry him along before you start feasting in earnest.

“No. I’ll do it.” Your man of fire is surprisingly straightforward when he puts his mind to it, you muse, pulling back from what would have been a glorious bloom of markings had he let you continue.

“Okay. Three truthfully answered questions, as is traditional, and I’ll answer one now… consider it a deposit, or a sign of good faith, then.” He seems surprised, but you are so immensely curious about what he could possibly want to ask about. Plus, you don’t want to scare him away from your potential blowjob. The chance he might bite your dick off is just part of the thrill.

“Alrighty then, Mr. Kabu. What’s your first question?”

He asks, calmly, without hesitation, without the slightest flinch in his face:

“What’s your name?”

You let out a bark of laughter, wild, crazed. When your fit subsides to chuckles, you can’t help grinning down at Kabu.

“Would’ve worked on the damn fae, but unfortunately, Mr. Kabu, our kind don’t hold so strongly by names. I told you Sir, didn’t I? That’s certainly your name for me. Is it not true?”

He doesn’t look particularly disappointed, just resigned. If there was any way he could’ve gotten himself out of this situation, he knows you definitely wouldn’t have handed it to him on such a perfect silver platter. He probably felt like he still had to try, though. Kudos for that.

“Alright, time to put your money where your mouth is,” still chuckling, you withdraw the dreamweave binding him to the bed with a casual wave of your hand. If he’d offered an act of his own free will, you’ll sure as hell take advantage of that. You adjust positions, swinging Kabu up and around, carefully guiding him to kneel facing the side of the bed. You’re sitting there, indolently, legs spread for him.

Near-reverentially, you tug him forwards, leading him between the sprawl of your legs, gently bringing his mouth to a stop when it lightly rests against the head of your dick. His eyes stare out of his face blindly, searching for landmarks in the black you’ve sunk him into. It makes such a pretty picture, you almost want to keep him there like that forever.

But the main event must go on.

“Hands behind your back, please,” Look at that, you’re being all nice and polite and shit. The lengths you’ll go to for good sex. Obediently, he crosses his wrists behind his back, and that quiet acquiescence to your words drives you fucking crazy with how hard you are seeing it. Without even needing _asking_, so-mother-fucking-polite, Kabu opens his mouth and tentatively takes the head of your cock, resulting in a pleased rumble building low in your chest. Then he decides to go_ fucking crazy_, you guess, go hard or go home, but either way you know it is Some Bullshit when he immediately tries to take as much of your cock into his throat as he can. 

You let out a strangled gasp, fuck, as Kabu gags around your cock halfway down, because of course he does. You’re big, he’s inexperienced, he just tried to jump to black belt expertise level in one go. He sputters around it, making a mess, but it’s just fine because you like it messy. You won’t help him out of the mistakes he’s made himself, so you just curse under your breath at his suddenness and watch him pull off to catch his breath, hacking. To the old man’s credit, he keeps his hands behind his back and just lets the drool and spit make a mess around his mouth and drip down his chin. It’s good, too, to see him blindly try and reorient to get back to his task, searching for your cock by approximating guesses and moving his face slowly around. He’s pretty on point, too, resulting in him eventually successfully nuzzling up against your dick. When he tries again he’s more measured and your dick gets some more much-needed attention at last. Third try is even better as he figures out saliva makes the slide slicker. By the fourth he’s getting half of it into his mouth pretty reliably, and the fifth is when you suspect he belatedly remembers he’s supposed to be acting enthusiastic about this shit and starts going for your cock like a dog after a bone, because you really don’t have any other explanation for how the intensity suddenly ramps up.

Kabu’s better, but still too new, especially to you. You figure fuck it, he’s demonstrated enough, you want to have your turn now. You hold his head firmly in place with a grip like steel, dreamweave creeping back over his wrists to bind them behind his back, because he’ll probably move on reflex with how hard you want to facefuck him fight now. 

“Watch the teeth,” you murmur absentmindedly, entirely focused on carefully feeding the rest of your length fully down his throat. His throat flexes around you, does some interesting twitches and jumps, but it’s with a sigh and carefully-applied force that he takes all of your cock down. The bulge is visible in his throat from the outside, and it fills you with a possessive satisfaction only measured by how full Kabu’s throat is probably feeling right about now. You can feel the telltale movement in his throat though, he’s about to gag and choke and probably bite down out of reflex, so you quickly pull out and start to facefuck him in earnest.

Kabu does take it like a champ, for an inexperienced old man taking a cock far too large for him down his throat: you get grazed with his teeth more than a couple of times, sure, but your dick is still attached to your body, so you’ll count that as a win. When you come, you pull out in time to do it over his face, milky white dripping from his eyelashes and down his face. You admire the picture for a moment, the picture of debauchery with his flushed face, hazy eyes, and copious amounts of saliva and semen smeared over his face. You wipe the come off his face with your fingers to spoon it into his panting, open mouth, wiping your digits clean on his tongue. Dazed, he accepts each fresh bit you feed into his mouth, and when you gently push his jaw to close his mouth, encouraging him to swallow, he does. That possessive curl of satisfaction had not left, and it grows greedily in your chest.

Your come has unique properties, mostly relating to sex, so it should help him recover from all the choking you seem to like inflicting on him. You lift Kabu back onto his bed to wait for him to recover and stroke your already-recovering dick lightly, nearly humming in anticipation. You’ll answer his two questions, and then it’s your turn to eat.

When he slowly comes back to himself, he turns his head slightly, and that’s what cues you, the way he can’t help searching for light even without his sight. You curl up behind him, spooning him and ignoring the way he stiffens at your sudden full-body contact. You’re not particularly offended. After all, you are quite cold.

You hum into the top of his head, burying your face in his hair and inhaling deeply.

“What’s your second question?”

He’s silent, considering. You feel him shift in your arms slightly.

“Why do you… do this? Coming to my bed every week and… well.” His voice is even more wrecked than before, and you note with a bit of guilty excitement it’ll probably be worse by the end of the night. He sounds hoarse, raspy. Old and tired. Human. You could almost pity him, for being set upon by forces larger and stranger than he should have to comprehend. Almost.

You answer.

“I’m very cold and very hungry. I like you. I need to feed. You’re extraordinary, and I want you. Satisfied?” You eye him for a moment, then add, 

“I’ll save you some questions, too: there’s no way in which you could get me to leave you and feed off of someone else, I refuse to go “vegetarian,” and you can’t kill me through any method available to you.” 

You stretch sinuously against him, making sure you press your hard cock up against his ass, just to make your brash intentions clear. There’s already a bit of wet slide to it that suggests your venom has been doing an admirable job of inducing slick.

“What’s your last question, Mr. Kabu? Make it quick. You see, I’ve been aching to get to my meal.”

He shifts uncomfortably, well aware of the erection digging into his ass. Still, he soldiers on.

“I’d… prefer to save the last one for now.” You blink in surprise. How prudent. Still, you’re not one to complain as you immediately roll him onto his belly, pushing his face into the pillow and pulling his ass upwards, propped on his knees into the air. He goes with a muffled groan of complaint that soon cuts off into a whine when you give his slick hole a tentative lick, rim twitching. You dive in with fervour, sealing your mouth around it and sucking hard. Kabu makes a strangled noise that goes straight to your dick. Then your tongue gets more actively involved, and from there on out it’s like he loses coherence completely. Your favorite. You’re glad for the marvels of your shifted form, your long, prehensile tongue pressing up against his prostate lightly enough to make him bite down hard on his pillow. You eat him out like that, slurping, sucking, teasing until even his strong, steady thighs are shaking from the strain of holding himself up and precum drips continuously from his untouched cock. Then, and only then, do you flip him onto his back, pulling his knees up to his head with dreamweave, and fuck him.

On your first smooth thrust in, he comes. It’s without fanfare, just a splatter of white from his bobbing cock, and you enjoy knowing that you coaxed it out without laying a finger on his cock. It wears him out, clearly, but you keep up a bruising pace, ignoring his hypersensitivity as you grasp a hand around his now-limp dick to stroke him. He cries, of course he does, because he’s human and even if you help with his refractory rate you can’t completely eliminate it, but his pain is sweet spice to you. You roll your hips just so and enjoy the way his stomach bulges in time with the size of you. You can’t imagine how he feels, to be mounted and so full, but you hope he enjoys your determined accuracy in grazing his prostate with each fast thrust. His face is still wet with tears when he climaxes again, and again, and again, until eventually he’s coming dry and his limbs are limp and even his ugly sobbing cries have quieted. At some point you’d slowed down, to more deeper, if measured, thrusts. You have your meal. So flawlessly well-done.

Now, you take care when extricating yourself. When you remove yourself from his much-abused hole, liquid trickles out after you. You take your time to eat, licking and sucking and at times nibbling up all of Kabu’s cum, splattered freely all over his chest like a high-class dessert. If you linger a little longer on his nipples, playing carefully until he twitches, even driven to exhaustion so, well, it’s dessert. You can have some fun. After you leave a trail of angry dark marks from the tender flesh of his inner thigh all the way up to his neck, you sit back, satisfied with your handiwork, and kiss his forehead affectionately. He barely stirs, eyes still blinded and blank. He’ll be so sore tomorrow, you think to yourself.

You don’t have much longer - dawn is coming soon, you can tell - but your fires have been replenished and you’re feeling good. Calm. You stretch a wing and yawn, sleepily, exposing a mouth full of sharp canines. The sheets are ruined, as usual, but Kabu can clean them tomorrow, so for now you tuck him in and close his eyes. The mock-blindfold of dreamweave you’ve wound around his eyes painstakingly unravels itself and returns to your fold. You stare at his face, consideringly, then turn to leave. It’s out the window, onto the roof, and with barely a thought you’re in the air, on the way home. And if you leave a glass of water out by his bedside for him, well, you have to take care of your food, don’t you?

**Author's Note:**

> the characterization might be off or whatever but blame it on the AU. hope you liked it! because i spent way too long chomping this out and now i want validation. may or may not be continued in whatever direction i feel most horny for.


End file.
